


Angel

by Kandakicksass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (That should be an official kink), First Time (Implied), Grey-eyed Tom Riddle, Harry and Tom watching Harry and Draco, M/M, Professor!Harry, Sweet Tom, The old I-have-to-go-back-in-time-and-kill-you-oops-I-can't, Time Travel, professor!tom, time paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kandakicksass/pseuds/Kandakicksass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry goes back in time to kill Tom Riddle, but things don't turn out as planned. A series of small ficlets in one universe.<br/>(Cross-posted from FF.net.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-what-beta.   
> As a side note, Harry and Tom are OOC like whoa, because I wanted tooth-rotting fluff, so sorry. I read too much Paimpont Tomarry, which is probably why.

He’d never really known true beauty before. His hand trembled over dark curls and his heart ached so sweetly he was sure it was only phantom pain of wounds healed long ago.

"Harry?"

The voice was thick with sleep and while deep, something about it was almost childlike. Once, he might have scoffed at the notion but now he just swallowed and gave a nod, his cheeks a dark shade of red. This boy, his target? He hadn't thought his mission through and it showed, because he was unable to kill this angel smiling sleepily at him from under his covers. A fifteen year old Tom Riddle was nothing like a sixteen year old Tom Riddle, one who had let his hate brew. Fifteen year old Tom was still a hurt little boy with no friends to speak of and faint dreams of power with no idea the lengths he would go to in order to achieve it.

"Do you need something?" Tom's hand was warm as it came up to cover his own. His hovering hand landed on Tom's cheek.

Harry shook his head, swallowing again and cursing his suddenly dry mouth. "Only you," he croaked softly and Tom rolled his eyes, pulling back the covers.

"Took you long enough, Harry," the boy snorted, rubbing his eyes with his other hand, letting Harry's slip from his face. Harry could deny him nothing when he glanced at him like that, silver orbs surrounded by thick black eyelashes. Harry slid into bed next to him, feeling overly warm all of a sudden and protected by the larger body of the beautiful teenager.

Once, he'd looked at Tom's beauty and thought about the future, thought of pale skin and distorted features, the manifestation of evil itself. Now, he saw only an angel and he almost wished that he knew how to fix that because he was steadily loosing himself to the heavenly boy. He kept waiting for Tom to fall from grace and as of late, despite his hazy memories of his time, he was beginning to think that maybe he won't.

"You need your sleep, love," Tom said in a whisper against Harry's forehead.

"I know," Harry whispered back. "I just can't tonight. The bond felt antsy, so I moved closer to you. Maybe I'll be able to, now." Tom smiled in satisfaction, like the fact pleased him, and Harry knew that it did. He'd never bothered to correct Tom when he declared that they were obviously bonded by fate and destined to be together. Perhaps it was the truth, for all Harry knew. Perhaps it was circumstances that had led to the bond he had known before. He couldn’t feel it now, that bond of hatred and fear. Only the warmth of Tom's body against his and the lips pressing kisses to his hair.

"You smell like flowers," Tom chuckled against his skin and Harry couldn’t work up the energy to roll his eyes. "Did Walburga get you again?"

"Trying to make me suitable," Harry affirmed, his tense muscles relaxing. "Because flowers are manly and will certainly make me worthy of Slytherin house." Tom laughed again quietly and Harry tried to remember the cold laugh he remembered. He couldn’t; the memory had been completely been destroyed by this gorgeous being.

"Did they think you worthy in your time, Harry?"

Harry shifted, looking over at Tom with a small smile. "Well, I was never hit with experimental freshening charms as I went to bed, if that's what you're acting." He wondered if Tom was able to guess he was really a Gryffindor at heart. He wondered if he would mind. Tom opened his mouth again in an obvious bid to learn more of Harry's future, but Harry kissed his question away.

Their kisses were still sweet and innocent, still experimental and declarations of love rather than passion. Tom was unsurprisingly knowledgeable when it came to sex but they hadn't attempted it, not when Harry was still so unsure of himself. Tom had no such qualms – he had embraced Harry from the beginning. The moment he suspected their bond, suspected Harry had come from a mysterious, foggy future to be with him, he had completely given his heart to Harry, who was close to following in his footsteps.

No, Harry couldn’t possibly kill him. He couldn’t even bear to leave him in spite of the friends he was actively leaving behind. He kissed Tom again, and settled into sleep.

"Brat," Tom whispered so softly he probably thought Harry can't hear him. "I love you."

Harry shifted one more time to tilt his head, pressing his lips to Tom's jaw. He would say the words soon – as soon as he destroyed the spell he fashioned to take him to a time he no longer acknowledged as his home. For now, however, he would rest. Tom Riddle was not Voldemort and Harry was going to ensure that he never could be. Things had changed. He kissed Tom's jaw once more, and closed his eyes.

 


	2. Severus

Green eyes fringed with black lashes flickered up from a large book to meet Tom Riddle's gaze. Unlike so many in their year, Harry did not look away from fear; he merely smiled and gestured for Tom to sit down. It was so strange, being with the more slender boy. He was all endearing gracelessness and endearing smiles, far too trusting to truely be a Slytherin but far too devious to really be a Gryffindor.

He knew that Harry was unaware that Tom knew about his original house loyalties - really, it wasn't very hard to guess. It was unnerving, however, only when Tom realized that he, too, was displaying lion-like tendencies, and he would usually spend an hour or so sulking because of it.

"Tom, I found this interesting potion," Harry said, garnering his attention easily and drawing him away from his thoughts. "I'm not sure what all it does, but it kind of gives off the impression that it gives the drinker an allure, like veela. Only about a million more times more complicated than that."

"Veela allures are complicated enough without making it more so," Tom replied with a roll of the eyes, lifting the book and nudging Harry to his feet. He sat down in the large green chair, settling against the cushions and gesturing for Harry to likewise settle in his lap with his book. "What are you doing with that book, anyway? Last time I checked, you weren't too fond of potions." An understatement, but that was okay.

Harry looked back at him with a sad sort of smile. "I'm just trying to honor a war hero."

Tom's eyebrows shot to his hairline as he cuddled the seventeen year old in his arms. Technically, Harry was older than he was, but he was taller and more muscular, whilst Harry was abnormally small for his age and slender. He was toned but he was certainly not going to be a bodybuilder, which was fine with his lover, who quite liked his size. Besides which, it made it easy for Harry to pass himself off as a fifth year to be with Tom and he was perfectly happy with the arrangement.

"Did you know this war hero?" Tom asked conversationally, wondering with the slightest twinge of jealousy who this mystery man could be to have earned a high enough place in Harry's respect to have him reading texts of a subject he despised.

"I did," he answered, his voice nostalgic and if Tom wasn't mistaken, tinged with regret. "He was my potions professor through school. A brave man. I'm afraid we didn't get on very well while he was alive, though I'd like to think we parted on good terms." The word 'parted' came out a little hoarse. "I was just thinking recently that I should have tried harder to do well in his class, to sympethize, to learn more about him."

"You didn't get on?" Tom's eyebrows arched even higher.

Harry shook his head, the look in his eyes upsetting, and Tom almost, but not quite, regretted asking. "I would go so far to say he almost hated me. I didn't understand it at first, but I later learned the reason for his animosity." He sounded almost whistful. "He was a good man, though. Even though he hated me, he still saved my life a million times over and... I should have tried harder, you know? After finding out what my father did to him, what he had been through. Why didn't I try to make ammends? He'd saved my life, done everything to protect me... he deserved so much more."

"I take it he died, then," Tom said softly and Harry nodded, biting his lip. He wasn't crying, and he wouldn't - Tom didn't know any details of this war Harry spoke of, but he knew that Harry had shed enough tears over it. He refused to allow himself any more.

"I just hope he's happy, wherever he is." He paused, then said in a softer voice. "I hope that this changes things. I hope that somehow, he lives. I can't speak for my father's actions and even if I change the future he'll still probably not be very nice to Severus -" Tom felt that there was something familiar about the name, just out of reach of his consciousness. "- but I can hope that he lives."

Tom didn't understand how Harry's bout of time-travelling would save this man's life, but he assumed that there was something he didn't know. It infuriated him, but not with Harry - no, he wasn't angry at Harry. He knew that there was things he couldn't tell him about, time paradox rules and all that... still, _he_ hoped that one day Harry would trust him with that knowledge.

"I'm sure he forgave you your squabbling," Tom said quietly, his breath ghosting over a pale ear, and Harry gave him a weak smile. "Now read your texts, love, and stop tormenting yourself, or else I'll have to distract you another way."

Harry laughed and twisted enough to kiss him, tongue going no futher than swiping over his bottom lip, before turning back to his book.

 


	3. Just Harry

Harry felt like it was a little bit unusual to spend his spare time lying in bed fantasizing about his boyfriend – was that even what Tom was? Merlin, ‘boyfriend’ sounded stupid when it was in reference with his gorgeous _Tom_. There wasn’t another word for him. Soul mate, perhaps? They had shared one after all.

He let out a sigh, his hand drifting lower. He wasn’t going to pretend that his cheeks weren’t burning, or that he wasn’t uncomfortable, or that he didn’t feel like he was defiling Tom. And how ridiculous was that? Despite not currently being a murderer, Tom was far from innocent. He had a darkness in his heart that due to his relationship with Harry rarely came out as of late, but it still existed and everyone knew it. The upper years were wary of him and the lower years were almost afraid of him.

Tom had told him to do this, though, because it was _finally_ time. After weeks of preparation, almost five months after his jump into the past, he had that morning finally sat down in the common room, Tom’s stormy grey eyes on him. They were both silent until Harry aimed his wand at the parchment sitting in front of him and murmured _incendio_. They both watched as the chicken scratch of Latin went up in flames and Harry knew that while those words would always be in the back of his mind, he would never say them out loud. Burning the parchment that held them was only symbolic – he wasn’t going anywhere and the sight of the burning parchment had made Tom’s mouth curve in a smile.

So now Harry laid in bed, biting his lip and waiting for his Tom to come to him. He wanted to be connected with Tom in some way, any way, whether Tom was in him or he was in Tom. Honestly, so long as he got to worship the fifth year’s body, he wouldn’t complain. It was weird, when he thought about it – he was older than Tom, but smaller. He wasn’t girly or effeminate, but he was shorter and had a far more slender build. They both had muscles and bullocks and they both had to shave, and yet Harry still wanted Tom like no other. He hadn’t thought about his sexuality much before he’d fallen into the forties, but that had ceased to be an issue for him.

It had bothered him for about a week from when he realized his feelings for his oddly friendly dorm mate. Tom _had_ been unusually friendly and he’d been suspicious despite his uncomfortable attraction until Tom had come clean with the bond he felt between them. He’d been sitting on the couch and Tom had been standing over him, breathing heavily, eyes piercing into the soul they had once shared. His heart had been pounding and his cheeks had been hot and then Tom had been on him, whispering about how there was something between them that tied them together, mouthing the words against his lips and straddling Harry’s knees to make sure he didn’t throw him off until he’d at least listened.

And Harry had done more than listen. He’d arched into the contact and surrendered, gripping Tom’s arms tight and accepting his feverish though chaste kisses, desperate and laid all over his face. He’d given the ultimatum then that they wouldn’t do more unless Harry made the official decision to stay.

And now he had and Tom was entering their shared room, locking the door behind him and turning his scorching silver gaze on Harry.

“You’re beautiful,” Tom breathed as he made his way over, shedding his robe first, then his vest, then his tie. He stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes on Harry, who lay there in his school slacks without a shirt, belt unbuckled. “Merlin,” Tom whispered as he climbed into bed. “Handsome and just so _gorgeousss_.” Harry shivered as his soon-to-be lover slipped into parseltongue.

Harry didn’t think he was handsome, really – that was Tom, with his sharp features and idealistic build. He had never really understood how perfect Tom was from pensieve memories or the diary image. This boy in front of him was warm and alive and infinitely better than a faded image and cold holograms.

Harry whispered his thoughts to Tom, their breath mingling, and Tom’s eyes gleamed to hear of Harry’s opinion of him.

Even after all that time, however, it shocked Harry into silence when the boy who couldn’t love opened his mouth, taking Harry’s face in two warm palms and said, quite clearly, “I love you.” His throat closed up and he felt almost like he wanted to cry. Instead, he kissed Tom again.

“I-“ His voice broke and Tom leaned back just a bit to examine his expression. “I love you, too.” Then, after another pause, “I need to tell you something. Not tonight, but soon. Tonight is about us, but it’s time for me to tell you the truth, I think.”

“If you say so,” Tom murmured, and kissed him again. “My perfect Harry.” He almost started crying, almost frightened of what Tom would do when he found out what he would become, that his lover who had come from the future to be with him was actually his assassin.

But Harry wasn’t his assassin anymore, he forced himself to think as Tom started trailing downwards with his lips, shrugging his white button up off his shoulders and tossing it to the floor. He was Tom’s lover and that’s all he was going to be. Not the boy-who-lived. Just Harry.

“Harry,” Tom whispered against his throat and green eyes slipped closed. Yes. Harry would do quite nicely.


	4. A Visit

"Harry!"

Tom watched in confusion and distrust as a brown-haired girl he didn't recognize ran up to his lover as they visited in Hogsmeade. Harry was frozen, his eyes so wide that Tom was sure they'd pop out, his body stiff. Tom had an arm around Harry's waist and his grip on the smaller male only tightened as she came closer.

"Hermione," Harry choked, curling into Tom's body. The darker-haired Slytherin automatically went on the defensive, his free hand gripping his wand tightly. "Hermione, this -"

Brown eyes narrowed at the cowering eighteen year old, then widened. "Harry, what are you doing? The ministry has been in shambles looking for you!" The girl was lessening as a threat, though Tom still wasn't sure what to make of her. What on earth could she mean, the ministry was looking for him? And who on earth _was_ she? Tom was sure he'd never seen her before - and then it hit him. This girl must be from Harry's time, from the future that Harry had promised him he'd never return to.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, eyes narrowed. He knew he could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be and boy, did he want to be. If she had come with the belief she could just waltz in and steal Harry from him, then she was sorely mistaken because Tom would kill her three times over before she could even try.

Then Harry was reaching for her and Tom winced, rethinking his plans of murder because he was pretty sure that Harry wouldn't appreciate him killing anyone, let alone a girl he appeared to care for. He might have felt romantically threatened by their tight embrace if Harry wasn't clearly as homosexual as he was, whether he'd known it upon his arrival or not.

"Tom," Harry choked, wiping his eyes as he pulled away from the girl who suddenly looked dumbstruck. "This is one of my best friends, Hermione. Hermione, this is -"

"Tom?" she whispered, looking between Tom and Harry. "Tom Riddle?"

Tom's eyes widened in surprise. Why did she sound so shocked? If she knew Harry, then she'd obviously known why he was there. Why wouldn't she know that he'd come to the past to be with him? It wasn't like Tom was some sort of secret, was he?

"Hermione -" Harry choked, but the witch just shook her head, pulling him aside with a glance toward Tom - and was that _fear_ he saw in her eyes?

Tom wasn't going to stand there and pretend they obviously weren't talking about him - oh, no. He cast a quiet sensory enhancing charm and listened, glaring at the girl who was upsetting Harry, whose hand gestures were getting more and more frenzied, a sure sign of agitation or panic.

" - and I understand that you need to get close to him to complete your mission or whatever, but don't you think you're a little _too_ close? From the looks of it, he thinks you're dating! I mean, he had his arms around you, and he was glaring me down the whole time!"

"Hermione," Harry said quietly, but Tom wasn't sure what to think about it. He's usually mesmerized by Harry's voice, but at the moment he was just feeling really confused and almost scared. "Hermione, he does think we're dating. Because we _are_ dating."

"You _are_ dating," Hermione repeated, then gave a laugh that was a tad hysterical. "I mean, of course you are! Who doesn't want to date their parent's murderer?"

Tom went completely still, though through sheer force of will kept his expression neutral. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that his relationship with Harry was about to be flipped upside down and there was absolutely nothing that he could do about it. Harry had mentioned his parent’s murderer so few times  that Tom didn’t even have a name to go with the vague picture Harry had described and now he was supposed to believe that the snake-faced bastard that had tried to kill his Harry was _him_?

“He’s not,” Harry replied, his voice tinged with desperation. “He’s not Voldemort, Hermione, not now. Not ever if I have a say about it.”

A chill settled through him. He’d never told Harry about the name Voldemort, a silly child’s attempt to escape from the torment of his father.

“So, what, you’re going to stay here and play baby sitter?” the girl, Hermione, asked him, her voice so worried – worried about Harry – that Tom finally gave up on the idea of killing her. “Harry, he’s dangerous whether he’s a murderer yet or not. You’re supposed to kill him, not shag him!”

“I don’t care,” Harry hissed and Tom wasn’t sure whether he felt hurt or relieved. “I _love_ him, Hermione. I didn’t mean to, but I do. It’s not me trying to get close to him, it’s… how do I explain it?” Harry ran a hand through his hair, worrying his lower lip. “Look, come up to the castle. Get to know Tom a bit more, and then sometime later we can go to the Room and talk. Okay?”

There was a long pause in which Hermione hesitated, sneaking a not-so-subtle glance at Tom, who was watching them with a flat expression to hide his mix of emotions.

“All right,” she answered at last. “But if he does anything, I swear, I’ll hex him so fast you won’t be able to say _protego_.”

Harry rolled his eyes, visibly relaxing. “Fine.” He took her hand, leading her back to where Tom stood, and gave his lover a relieved smile. Harry was so horrible at hiding things from him – if he’d wanted to do so, that relief would have given him away immediately.

Instead of making a scene demanding answers, Tom just leaned down and took Harry into his arms, kissing him soundly and almost desperately. “We need to talk later.” Harry pulled back to give him an accusing look, knowing immediately he’d been listening in, but they both knew that he deserved the answers he wanted and Harry looked up at him with eyes pleading for forgiveness. He didn’t say anything else, but kissed Harry again tenderly as if to say that he wasn’t angry with him.

“Later,” Harry whispered, and Tom simply nodded, tightening his hold on the boy and ignoring Hermione’s suspicious glare. They began their trek to the castle.

 


	5. Truth

Harry stroked Hermione’s hair one last time as she lay fast a sleep on the divan in his and Tom’s room. There used to be someone else who shared their room, but circumstances had led to him being moved. It had been a bit of a surprise for Harry to find out that Slytherins generally had three two a dorm room as opposed to the five or six Harry was used to in Gryffindor tower, but a welcome one.

Hermione let out a soft sound in her sleep and he smiled bleakly. It shouldn’t have shocked him so much that Hermione had found his notes and used his spell to find him in the forties, but it did. She’d known why he was there, but had obviously grown worried as the weeks turned to months. He wished she hadn’t come back for him. It would be so much easier if they all just forgot about him.

Tom stood in the doorway to their room, watching them both with a guarded expression. He knew that his lover wasn’t angry with him, but he was confused and upset, and both of those things never meant good things in Tom Riddle even on their own.

Harry made a gesture for Tom to remain silent and stood, brushing off his robes and walking as quietly as he could toward the door. He took Tom’s hand and led him through, leading them down to the common Room. As it was winter break, most of Slytherin house had gone home and the common room was empty except for a first year asleep on the rug before the fire. Harry sighed and nudged her awake before leading her gently by the shoulders to the entrance to the girls’ dorms.

When he returned, he found Tom sprawled on the couch in front of the fire, for once looking tired and unsure of himself instead of dignified and proper. Sometimes Harry thought there was no point in Tom being a half-blood if he was going to act like a pureblood anyway, but it didn’t really matter in the long run.

“When were you going to tell me?” Tom asked at last, his voice resigned. Harry deflated in relief because, though he knew Tom wasn’t, he fully expected the other wizard to be angry with him. He’d almost expected the end of their relationship and the beginning of Voldemort and wasn’t that silly?

“I dunno,” Harry replied dully, looking away in shame. He knew that he had a good reason, but he still felt the guilt for lying to him. “It’s not an easy thing to tell the person you love.”

Tom shifted into a sitting position, pulling Harry up next to him, who had been kneeling on the stone floor next to the couch.

“But you didn’t love me when you came here.” Harry knew how much it had to hurt Tom to admit that, who had thought Harry had come to him out of love. “You came… you came to _kill_ me, Harry. If that’s even your real name.”

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes and pressing himself against Tom’s side, curling there like he had so many nights before. “You already knew that Black was not my last name, but Harry _is_ my first name.” He paused, wondering, then sighed and gave up. “My surname is Potter.”

Tom’s nose wrinkled. “Please tell me you’re not related to Charlus or Fabian.” Harry knew very little of his family line so he couldn’t say, but he managed a half-grin.

“Probably. I never met any of my family members.” He shifted uncomfortably when Tom gave him that look reminding him that they should be getting back to the subject at hand. “Tom, there’s a lot you don’t know and of course, there’s a lot _I_ don’t know…” He laughed nervously.

“Do you really love me, Harry Potter?” Tom asked softly, cutting him off, and Harry nodded, glad for the easy to answer question. Tom examined him, sighing. “I don’t understand how if what your friend Miss Granger said was true. Am I truly…?”

Harry looked up at him, biting his lip. “No, not… not _this_ you. If I hadn’t come, then you’d probably be plotting the death of your father right now. I didn’t really know you at this age – the Tom I knew well went by Voldemort, and he looked nothing like you.” He reached up to touch Tom’s beautiful face. “He was a monster,” Harry continued in what was close to a hoarse whisper and cleared his throat. “He’s been dead now, in my time, for a year. There were too many loses I wasn’t willing to deal with, so I planned to come back, to kill you – Hermione always said that bad things happened to wizards who meddled in time, but I didn’t really care.”

“I’m – _he’s_ dead?” Tom asked and Harry nodded.

“I don’t know what made you lose your mind, Tom. Maybe it was being alone for so long. I used to think you were just born evil.” Tom couldn’t hide the twinge of hurt that Harry saw flash in his eyes and the older leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I know that’s wrong, now. But you did go mad – for power maybe. You killed so many people, Tom, split your soul so many times…” He shuddered and Tom laid a trembling hand on his cheek. “Do you know what horcruxes are yet, Tom?”

Tom shook his head, lips tightly shut, and let Harry continue.

“Don’t ever make one,” Harry whispered. “Before I go on, promise me you’ll never make a Horcrux, Tom. I’ll explain that later, but promise me you’ll give up on becoming immortal.”

Tom nodded, whispering, “I promise.”

Harry nodded, taking a shaky breath, and continued. He talked and talked until his throat was dry and Tom was shaking himself, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, and clutching Harry to him like the older was a frightened child he had to protect.

“You’re a part of my soul,” Tom whispered to him. He didn’t cry – Tom Riddle did not cry, however badly he wanted to – but he closed his eyes tightly and pressed feverish kisses to Harry’s hair and forehead. “Merlin, Harry…”

“I love you,” Harry whispered back because it seemed like it should be a whispered conversation. Of course it had nothing to do with how his voice was thick with tears and raspy. “I love you, _you_ , not him, not anyone else. You’re not him, Tom, and I’m going to stay here with you to make sure you never become him. I couldn’t bear it if you became him.”

“Because you love me,” Tom said fiercely, pulling back and taking Harry’s face in his hands. Their eyes locked. “Not to save the others, but because you love me.” Harry could understand why Tom was so adamant about that. He would be upset if he thought someone was staying with him only to make sure he wouldn’t become a monster. He could understand why Tom so desperately wanted his love.

“Because I love you,” he agreed. “I want the others safe, too, my friends happy – but if it were to make sure you wouldn’t turn into him, I would just kill you.” His voice broke on the word _kill_. “I’m staying because I love you. I even destroyed the spell, Tom, because I love you.” He thought maybe the more times he said it the sooner Tom would believe him.

Tom nodded, then pressed another kiss to his lips. Everything wasn’t all right, not for a long shot, but he hoped they might be. Harry gave him a teary smile and he held Harry close, rocking him.

“I love you, too,” Tom murmured and Harry felt the breath go out of him. Tom had said it before, but it didn’t make it any less powerful – perhaps more so, now that he knew about Voldemort, about the loveless man he had been destined to become, but no longer.

Harry nodded, and kissed Tom again. Everything else could wait. For now, his priority was Tom. His life was Tom.


	6. 1991

“Granger, Hermione!”

Harry watched with a knowing smile as his brilliant friend – _student_ , he reminded himself firmly – sat with her eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. Tom grinned at him from his right, laying a hand on his lover’s knee and squeezing. They both knew the hat was probaly debating where to sort her, Ravenclaw or Gryffindor? Still, Harry sent a proud smile her way when the hat announced her to be a lion, unsurprisingly. Hermione smiled back when she glanced toward the head table, looking a bit confused but overall, happy. She wouldn’t dwell on why her wizened professor looked so proud of her.

Well, wizened wasn’t really the right word. He was only couple years older than Tom and Minerva and he thought he looked pretty good for 56 – at least, his hair wasn’t entirely grey and he didn’t have too many wrinkles. He looked mature and even if Tom was more attractive than he was at their age – Tom respecfully disagreed, but they’d ceased that argument years ago – it was no matter.

Shortly afterward Hermione sat down was “Malfoy, Draco!” who didn’t appear to have changed at all – but perhaps his smile was a little gentler, his eyes softer. Harry _had_ always been a little fond of Draco. Perhaps it was just because Draco never treated him like he was anything special, but he did like Draco. They’d almost been friends after the war and he didn’t doubt that if he’d had more time there, they would have been close.

“Weasley, Ron!” was called and Harry watched with a fond look as the hat barely touched his head before declaring him a Gryffindor. He watched him sit across from Hermione, who was watching him a little peculiarly, before turning to “Perks, Sally-Anne!” with a small smile. The Hufflepuff looked pleased, though a bit frightened, as she took off toward her table, and then it was only himself standing there curiously.

“Potter, Harry!”

Harry Black-Riddle watched with a carefully blank expression as a happy (if a bit cocky) black-haired boy walked confidently to the stool where the sorting hat sat. He knew Dumbledore was watching both him and Tom, smiling when he saw their calm expressions. He was the only one who knew what the real reason was for Harry’s mysterious appearince into the early forties, but Harry had a feeling that the matter was buried for good.

This boy, this Harry Potter, was not him. He had taught his parents, his godfather, all the people he’d respected as a child. He’d lived through two wizarding wars (though the first only briefly). He’d even saved the soul of the darkest wizard ever known to wizardkind. The Harry Potter taking his seat at Gryffindor table never knew starvation, never knew his horrid aunt and uncle, never knew that his life was forfeit to a world he was stolen from as a child.

No, this boy was not him.

Harry watched him curiously as Harry threw a look over his shoulder toward Slytherin, a little surprised to find that Draco Malfoy was sending him a smile and a wave. He was even more surprised when the little Harry blushed and returned it. Well, that was a bit odd, but Harry couldn’t say he hadn’t seen it coming. Tom was watching the little Harry as well with narrowed eyes, then back at _his_ Harry, who just shook his head with a small smile.

“Too many Gryffindors this year,” a voice from Tom’s right sniffed, sounded displeased, but Harry just grinned and laughed at his friend and ex-pupil.

“You’ve got plenty of Slytherins, Severus,” Harry teased. “Crabbe, Parkinson, Goyle, Malfoy, Zabini – plenty of them. Don’t complain.” Severus frowned at him, clearly pouting, but a smile twitched his lips upward. Harry had felt guilty about indirectly stealing the position as Head of Slytherin out from under him when he changed the past that led to his partner getting the position, but their potions professor seemed to be doing just fine without the extra responsibilites – it gave him extra time to flirt with the new Herbology teacher. He wondered sometimes what had happened to Professor Sprout, but that was just one of the things that he forced himself to forget about let the guilt eat him up.

“I know,” Severus answered gruffly. “I quite expected one of them to be part of my house, though. I blame his Gryffindor parents. Did you know I’m the only Slytherin out of his godparents?”

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing quite well who he was talking about. Lily and James had opted out of having a godmother for Harry and instead he had two godfathers – one for his each of his parent’s wishes. He was sure that Harry probably thought of Remus as one of his godparents, too – after all, it had never been a secret that Remus and Sirius were in love, even in school.

Peter had met a _sad_ fate with a spell gone wrong a year or two out of Hogwarts, but Harry had never particularly felt bad about that one. He wasn’t a murderer, but Peter Petigrew had never grown on him and Harry hadn’t mourned his death.

“I am surprised he’s not in Slytherin,” Tom remarked slyly, giving his lover a look. “I mean, with you as his godfather, it’s hard not to pick some things up. I think you’re just upset you’ll have to show some favour to a Gryffindor, though.”

“I refuse to favour the boy,” Severus snorted, but a soft glance toward his godson betrayed his lie. “He’s just like his father. Obnoxious, do-gooder… now, Draco is a piece of work. I’m proud to call that boy my godson.”

Tom and Harry both rolled their eyes, knowing how much Severus adored both of his godchildren. Harry just hoped he took it when when he found out how smitten they were with each other. He wondered idly whether they’d known each other before coming to Hogwarts. Well, he supposed it didn’t matter. They were friendly now, and that was what mattered.

Everything worked out for the best, Harry mused as he laid his hand over Tom’s. They might not be married, whatever Harry’s name change might imply, but they were together, and they were happy. He had saved the world and he had his angel. He was content.


	7. Drarry

Tom sighed as he made his way back to his private rooms, running a hand through his hair. He’d found a grey strand the day before and he wasn’t exactly happy about it. Harry – beautiful, wonderful man that he was – found the situation uproariously funny, and then proceeded to remind him that at least he _had_ hair in this reality. It was a good reminder, but it didn’t make him any more fond of the hair.

And then, it didn’t deter his fangirls at all – oh, yes, he had fangirls. Plenty of them. _Lots_ of them. Practically all of the female students and even some of the male population had a crush on him and not a one of them was particularly subtle about it. Harry couldn’t decide whether he thought it was cute or he wanted to strangle them, but at the end of the night, it was Harry jumping into bed with Tom, not any of the students.

He paused at the sound of a thump in a classroom a little ways ahead and frowned in confusion. That classroom had been empty for almost as long as he’d been in school, ever since they’d moved Defense Against the Dark Arts to the third floor in his second year. Then his eyes narrowed and a rather malicious smirk curved his lips upward. He wasn’t a dark lord, thank god, but he still quite enjoyed busting students.

He glanced into the classroom, wondering idly who he was taking points from, and was shocked into a statue-like form, mouth going very, very dry.

It really _shouldn’t_ have surprised him that Draco Malfoy had the little Harry bent over a desk, but Harry’s state of undress – though thankfully his trousers were still on, if opened – had him opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Malfoy was mouthing along the side of his neck and Potter was making soft noises Tom knew only too well – he was more than used to them coming out of his own lover, but seeing this little fourth year making those noises had him a little stumped.

He felt a fierce flash of protectiveness to battle his confusion and horror. In fourth year, he certainly hadn’t been fooling around in classrooms! He’d been studying, and telling his friends-followers what to do, and practicing the dark arts! He paused, wincing as he admitted to himself that maybe he wasn’t really a good example of what fourth year students do but _still._

“Malfoy!” he barked at last, pleased to see that the blonde in question pulled away sharply and went red all the way up to the roots of his blonde hair. Tom wished he could see that this was the first time he’d seen a Malfoy like this, but he would be lying. As a prefect and head boy, he’d seen Abraxas in that situation all the time, though Abraxas had only ever blushed the first time. Every time after that, he’d just grinned and carried on with what he was doing, knowing Tom – who’d actually become somewhat of a friend; yes, he could do that… after meeting Harry – wouldn’t get him into trouble.

Lucius was almost as bad as Abraxas, but he had the decency to be a little more shamed every time he got caught with whatever girl had his fancy or, in sixth and seventh year, Narcissa.

“Potter,” he growled when the boy didn’t move, just slumped against the table, boneless, though his blush gave away his embarrassment. “I would ask what the two of you are doing, but that would be a stupid question and I don’t need to know the details.” Draco’s blush gained more heat. “Detention, both of you, with me tomorrow night.”

“Professor,” Potter began, clumsily doing the buttons on his trousers. “We were just –“

Tom held a hand out, making a face. “Please, Potter. I can guess what you were _just_ doing. Keep the details to yourselves, and learn to use a locking charm.” He paused, then said, “That wasn’t permission to continue doing this in unused classrooms, you know! Do it elsewhere – oh, forget it. There is no good place to do this in school,” Tom groaned. “Pretend this conversation never happened. And get back to your dormitories!”

Draco couldn’t help but giggle and Harry bit his lip to attempt to hide his smile. The smaller boy took the blonde’s hand and nodded at their professor as they scurried out the door. “Give Professor Black-Riddle our regards when you get back to your rooms,” Draco quipped just before they turned the corner toward the dungeons and he just _knew_ they would be continuing their rendesvoux.

“I will,” he sighed, then had to bite his tongue when the two boys laughed loudly with a round of I-told-you-sos. He and Harry were fairly obvious but since they couldn’t marry, they never made a formal announcement about their relationship. It was almost a game for the students to garner some proof of it, however irritating it could be.

He looked positively exhausted by the time he got back to their rooms, undressing and crawling into bed with Harry, who looked up from his book to give him an amused smile. “What happened to you, love?”

“Malfoy and Potter,” he muttered. “Those two will drive me to an early grave.” Harry chuckled, laying a hand on Tom’s hair and running his fingers through still-(mostly)-black curls.

“Them again?” he asked, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. “I’ve found them at least twice in the past month. It’s a little weird, thinking of what could have happened between us if I was in his situation. I keep remembering Draco and I being enemies until after the war.”

“Quit thinking about shagging Malfoy,” Tom groused, then added firmly, “You’re mine. I don’t care what your current incarnation gets up to, so long as I don’t have to ever see it again. Just keep your thoughts away from it.”

“Aw, are you jealous, Tom?” Harry teased, earning himself a glare for his troubles. “Don’t worry. Draco’s always been pretty, but I’ve always found you infinitely more attractive.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Tom’s temple, set his book aside, and curled up next to his lover.

“I love you,” Tom sighed, leaning in a bit for a kiss. Harry smiled.

“Love you, too.”

 


	8. Professor Riddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final ficlet in the series. If anyone has something they'd like to see, feel free to let me know. *kisses*

Harry Potter sat near the front of the room in Defense Against The Dark Arts, second desk back. His partner was a little late to class – Harry couldn’t hazard a guess as to why, but he was sure Draco would concoct some interesting tale of how he’d been forced to battle a troll to save some lovely older girl (to which Harry would snort, knowing the girl was strictly for the sake of the cliché) to amuse him. While he waited, he doodled a bit on a bit of spare parchment. His mum was a fantastic artist, something she began dabbling in out of Hogwarts, and he’d picked it up from her. He wasn’t as good as she was – not in his opinion, though Draco disagreed – but he still enjoyed it.

There was a quiet knocking sound that was the classroom door hitting the wall as it was opened, and Harry turned, expecting to see his – was boyfriend really the most accurate word to use? But either way, boyfriend or not, he was wrong.

Professor Tom Marvolo Riddle calmly walked to the front of the room, his gait quick, his steps sure. It was common knowledge that despite being the heir of Slytherin, Professor Riddle was a half-blood, but no one would know it by looking at him. He acted as aristocratic as a Malfoy or a Black with half the ego (though Harry was sure that Professor Riddle was quite aware of his capabilities).

“I see we’re down a student or two,” Professor Riddle said calmly, scanning the room. A Gryffindor, Padma Patil, raised her hand, saying that her sister was ill. Professor Riddle nodded at her, then his gaze slid to Harry. Shivering, Harry wondered for a mere moment why it always seemed so intense when Professor Riddle looked at him. There was something so familiar about him that Harry couldn’t put his finger on. It was unsettling. “What about you, Mr. Potter? Do you know where Mr. Malfoy is?”

Harry’s mind blanked. He didn’t think Draco would be in too much trouble for being late, but he couldn’t just say ‘I think he’s skipped to have a wank’ or something silly like that. “I think,” he stammered, “That he was having a word with Uncle Sev – Professor Snape,” he corrected himself. Professor Riddle raised an eyebrow, just in time as the door to the classroom opened quickly and a flushed boy with carefully gelled blonde hair slid into the room.

“Sorry, I’m late, Professor,” Draco wheezed, blushing brightly at being the center of attention for his tardiness. “I was just, er –“

Professor Riddle rolled his eyes, gesturing for Draco to take his seat next to Harry. “Spare me, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter here has just explained that Professor Snape kept you.”

Draco’s eyes went to Harry and the gratitude in them was clear. He’d always been a little scared of Professor Riddle, and Harry snickered at him as he slid into his seat with a dirty look in Harry’s direction.

While Draco was always uneasy around him (he was under the impression that Professor Riddle didn’t _like_ him; how absurd…), Harry felt almost drawn to him. He certainly wasn’t frightened, though he could see the potential for Professor Riddle to be frightening. Instead, he felt like an old acquaintance.

Before they could begin class, however, the door opened again and Harry watched in something akin to amusement as Professor Riddle adopted an irritated expression, muttering ‘so many interruptions!’ under his breath. But the look vanished when he saw exactly who his interruption was and turned into a warm smile.

“Harry,” Professor Riddle said, and Professor Black-Riddle stepped in for a moment, gesturing for Professor Riddle to follow him back out.

“I need to speak to for a minute, Tom,” he called out, his own smile maybe a bit more than friendly. His eyes were soft.

As Professor Riddle followed him into the hall, Harry pondered Professor Black-Riddle, too. It was a similar feeling to how he felt around Professor Riddle, but Harry Black-Riddle, despite sharing his first name, was an oddity to him. He’d known him by reputation growing up – he was a very powerful wizard, just like Professor Riddle (and why they were professors when they could have been aurors or something of the like, he never understood) – and he’d met him once at a Black family gathering. He was distantly related to his godfather, Sirius, but Harry had never been able to pin him down to any one emotion or feeling.

Professor Black-Riddle seemed to him an old friend, a watchful presence to look after him. His parents all but spewed worship about him at home whenever he came up, but for all the bravado that he didn’t seem particularly pleased about, Professor Black-Riddle was more than just an idol to him – he just couldn’t explain what he _was_.

“Harry,” Draco hissed. “Didn’t you hear me? Are we meeting tonight or not?”

Harry blinked, coming back to reality, and gave Draco a grin. “Like I’d miss any opportunity to suck your gorgeous face,” he teased, enjoying it quite a bit when Draco went bright red.

“You could just say yes or no,” he grumbled, but Harry knew he enjoyed the compliment. He smiled fondly, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek as subtly as he could, though judging by a few giggles from behind them, he figured he’d probably failed at that.

“But what fun would that be?” he chuckled, breathing against Draco’s ear and smirking when his boyfriend shifted, pushing him away enough to glare at him.

Before Draco could answer, Professor Riddle came sweeping into the room a lot like his Uncle Severus did. He figured that was where his other godfather had learned it. He pulled out his notes parchment and a quill, preparing to begin work.

He felt the warm pressure of a hand on his knee and gave Draco a smile. Draco bit his lip, smiling back slightly, squeezed his knee, and pulled away again to take notes. Harry went back to his own parchment, content.


End file.
